


The Spirit We

by Khirsah



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khirsah/pseuds/Khirsah
Summary: "Wake up handsome," he says, as if they haven't been here before.
OR: What if Percy and Vax met well before the events of the stream?





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labellementeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellementeuse/gifts).



“Quiet,” Vax murmurs, holding up a hand.

The rest of the party goes still—even Grog pauses, warhammer propped over one brawny shoulder, brows raised in question. Vex silently unslings her bow; at her side, Trinket whuffs and shakes his big head.

Vax tips his head back toward the stairway. “I thought I heard something.” Something low and musical, echoing from down below. The clink of chains, maybe. Or had it been the clatter of armor? They’ve cleared out a pathway down into the dungeons, but there is no telling what waits for them in the deepest dark. “Stay here,” he adds, slipping toward the stairway. “I’ll stealth ahead and check it out.”

Keyleth—quietly—moans. “Again?” she asks, but Vax is already pressed against cold stone and making his way on silent feet down down down out of sight of the party’s fitful light. It isn’t long before the glow from Tiberius’s spell fades to a distant point, just strong enough for his low-light vision to pick out the particulars. The stairwell and dungeon beyond are black against black, dark shapes blending into shades of grey, each point indistinct.

He hesitates, straining to hear that soft rattle again. There’s a weight to the darkness that he doesn’t like, as if the keep is settling above him like a hawk at her nest. It makes him hunch his shoulders even as he grips his daggers tighter, shuffling carefully forward. It—

 _Clink_.

Vax freezes, breath held, listening. There’s a soft drag of flesh against stone, followed by another musical clatter of metal. _Clink, clink_ , chains settling. Some poor bastard bound down here to rot? Or a guard waiting to spring a trap?

 _No point taking chances_ , Vax thinks, slinking forward on silent feet. He’s aware of another breath rising and falling in the distance—whistling faintly, as if the owner’s lungs can no longer fill completely. It sounds painful the longer he listens, and _guard springing a trap_ is beginning to feel less and less likely. Still, he creeps closer to the sound, bit by bit, testing the deepening dark. There’s just enough ambient light for him to make out vague shapes and faint gradations of color. The little bit of moonlight spills messily across the floor and, as he turns the corner and looks into the cell, catches on a tangle of silver-white hair.

The figure is gaunt, starved, _beaten_ near to a pulp. There are dark bruises blooming across pale, pale cheeks. The man, all skin-and-bones and lean sinew, is so curled up into the tattered rags of his once-rich clothing that he almost seems to fade away, but Vax can make out the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. He can see the bloodstains matting his shirt and the silver of his hair.

An old man?

Gods, beaten half to death, by the look of it.

Something inside of him melts, the caution fading in the face of ever-present empathy. “Here, old fellow,” Vax murmurs, softly so he doesn’t spook the man. “I—”

He doesn’t get to finish, words stilling on his tongue as the old man lifts his head, and he isn’t old at _all_. He’s handsome and young, a year or two older or younger than Vax himself; proud, aristocratic features sunken in shadow and starvation, swollen in odd lumps where a fist had fallen but still, _still_ a pleasure to see. Delicate yet strong, cold yet warm, a shockingly familiar blend of contrasts, and Vax nearly drops his daggers as he meets those eyes, so achingly, terribly lost without the protective sheen of his glasses.

Hurt and dazed and…

And…

And “ _Percy?_ ” Vax breathes, shaken—standing stock-still, staring, as the years tumble away around him like the memory of freshly falling snow.


	2. Then

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Vax snarled. He twisted, turned, spat obscenities as he struggled to break free of the older man’s grip. The blank-faced guard simply grunted and held him fast.

Tight.

Almost brutally hard.

There’d be bruises ringing his skinny wrists if he survived the night, but that was the least of his worries. Not when he was being dragged bodily through this little pisshole of a town toward its far keep; not when _Vex_ was waiting back in the cave that had been their home since an unexpected storm trapped them in the far ridges. Not when she was relying on him to come back with food and medicine and the slimmest hope of survival.

He couldn’t let Vex’ahlia down. Anyone else, fine, fuck it, but not her. He had to get free no matter what it took.

Vax dragged in a serrated breath, cutting a quick look up at the guard. His feet stumbled in the snow as he fought to buy time. Bargaining; he could do bargaining. “Look,” Vax said, as reasonably as he could manage, “it’s not like I actually managed to _steal_ anything, right?”

The guard didn’t respond. He didn’t even _look down_.

“How I see it, you could just let me go. I’ll leave town, and you’ll never see me again. I swear.”

Not a word. Not a glance.

Vax began to scowl again. “Hey, _shithead_ , I’m talking to you,” he snapped, and almost immediately regretted it. The bad language had been picked up to match what his father liked to call his _even worse attitude_ , deep in the darkest gutters he could find. He wore it like a badge of pride, like a suit of armor, but the funny thing about armor was it was damned hard to take _off_ when you were in a hurry. And with the keep (and its no-doubt dank and damned difficult to spring prison cells) looming larger and larger before them, Vax knew he was running out of time.

He wet his lower lip. “Look,” he tried again, “I’m _sorry_. It’s just, I was hungry. I haven’t eaten in days, and I only tried to take enough to tide me over.” True enough that he could fake it if he had to, anyway. “I’ve never stolen anything before.” A bald-faced lie, but he put his heart into it. “I…”

Vax floundered, uncertain what to say next. What would he want to hear if _he_ were a giant armored brute who got his rocks off hauling teenaged gutter rats to starve in some shitty old cell? No, void, he probably would’ve let go at the first _I’m sorry_ , sadsack that he was.

Even better would be: what would _Syldor_ say to get out of this mess? Vax cleared his throat and mimicked his father’s flattest, most proper tones. “I take full responsibility for my actions.”

 _That_ got the guard to look at him, at least…but just long enough to snort down at Vax’s most heartbreakingly earnest face and nearly yank him off his feet with one brutally strong jerk.

Vax cursed and nearly stumbled to his knees in his wake. The day was cold and blindingly _white_. Snow crunched beneath his skittering feet and gathered in the messy snarls of his hair. It collected on his lashes and left him blind and furious with his fear, breath fogging on each ragged breath. “I’ll have your fucking nuts in a sack if you don’t let me go,” he warned, giving another twisting jolt. His arm dislocated easily—a trick that had saved him from more scrapes than he could remember—and he tried on his best howl of pain, but the guard just snagged him about the waist and hoisted him over one armored shoulder as if he weighed next to nothing. Worse, _no one_ came running to his rescue, heartless bastards that they were.

That was fucking _it._ “ _Let me go_ , you meat-brained sack of shit!” Vax howled, thrashing—kicking, snarling, snapping his teeth in the hopes of finding an unprotected bit of skin somewhere. His hands were free but one arm hung uselessly at his side, trailing limp until he could get the proper angle to snap it back into place. The other was hampered by the sharp ridge of the soldier’s metal pauldron; for the moment, he was as trapped as if locked into the stocks to await his grisly fate.

Even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good, Vax gathered his strength to knee the guard hard in the middle; thanks to thick armor, it just made his leg ache.

Someone laughed. “What’ve you got there, Maxwell?” a man drawled. Vax tried to turn to face him, but all he caught was a mouthful of his own lank black hair. “Did you go hunting in the river for half-drowned rats?”

“More like the sewer, considering the mouth on this one,” the guard, Maxwell, said. He slapped a hand on Vax’s rump, pinning him in place when he tried to roll free. “I’m getting the feeling m’lord should take care to lock ‘im up alone so’s he won’t give the other prisoners funny ideas.”

“Yeah, like _you’re_ getting funny ideas?” Vax muttered, fighting to kick the man’s hand free. He didn’t have the leverage, but it did his wounded pride wonders to try. “Get your hand off my fucking arse, you _pervert_.”

The other guard snorted a laugh. “I see your point. Better hurry up and dump him before any of the boys catch you hauling around your new piece.”

Vax bared his teeth, but Maxwell just chuckled and headed up the wide, white stone steps. Up up up, snowflakes falling fat and lazy around them—that big palm still pressed all-too-intimately over the curve of Vax’s ass as if to spite him. Through the dingy curtain of his hair, Vax could see the town of Whitestone dwindling—the mountains where his sister was waiting for him fading—the world going dim and quiet and almost peaceful. The thick wooden door swung shut behind them as he was at last, despite every attempt, trapped within the stone keep.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere high above.

“G’day m’lord,” Maxwell said, though not half as diffidently as one of Syldor’s servants would have said it. Maybe the lords of Whitestone didn’t like their assholes kept at quite the same level of squeaky clean. “Is your father in the receiving hall?”

There was a long, long pause—long enough that Vax was beginning to wonder if the lord was planning to answer at all. “No,” he finally said in perfectly crisp Common. He had the Whitestone accent same as everyone else Vax had met, but there was an unexpected lilt to it. A...music wasn’t quite the right word, but it was the closest thing his grasping mind could dig up.

Followed immediately by: _Self-satisfied little ponce_ , because he’d lived too many years in Syngorn to let himself be impressed by elitism.

Maxwell didn’t seem to share Vax’s view. He shifted awkwardly, as if all at once feeling his low station. “Is…your lady mother receiving, then?” he tried.

 _Another_ long pause, this one remarkably chilly, forcing Maxwell to all but squirm in awkward discomfort. _Put in his place._ “No,” the boy said, and, face hidden behind the guard’s back, arse hoisted in the air (with that big mitt _still pressed there_ like the oaf had any right), Vax began to grin. Okay, insufferable ponce or no, the way the lordling was breaking Maxwell down with insolent silence and a single frozen word was _glorious_. If Vax’s arm wasn’t dangling dead at his side, he’d shake the guy’s hand.

“I…well.” Maxwell clearly didn’t know how to respond. He shifted, then again, jostling Vax as he struggled to grasp control of the situation. The wind was falling out of his sails at a rapid clip; Vax could only imagine the haughty sneer the little lordling was affecting to get _this_ dramatic a response. “I’ll just…leave this one with the captain, then.”

He turned on his heel and began to stomp away. Vax twisted up just enough to catch a glimpse of the other boy—little more than an impression of a shock of black hair against pale skin. The boy waited, perfectly silent, as Maxwell pulled open the door, then:

“Stop,” he said.

Maxwell reluctantly stopped.

“Turn,” he said.

Maxwell grumbled something that sounded remarkably like _pretentious prick_ , and Vax snorted. He knocked against hard plate as Maxwell swung back around, but it was worth it to know he had something almost approaching an ally here.

There was a soft tred as the young lord made his way down the steps, one after the other after the other. He remained silent, iron control of the situation tightening with each second that passed. The guard tensed beneath him more and more until Vax was sure he’d crack. “M’lord,” Maxwell finally burst out.

The measured footsteps stopped. “Tell me,” the boy said in that lilting, faintly mocking tone, precise enough to feel like a scalpel slicing skin from bone, “are you in the habit of accosting young boys on the street?”

Maxwell drew in a great breath. “ _My lord Percival_ ,” he said, and Vax made a face. His knight in shining whatever’s name was _Percival_? What kind of a lily-white poncy-ass milksop of a fucking name was _that_?

Oh well. Beggars and choosers and all that, he supposed.

“Or perhaps I should be asking,” Percival barreled on, ignoring the man’s indignant sputters, “whether you make a habit of _handling_ young boys.” The way he stressed the word left little doubt as to his meaning.

The guard hissed, grip on Vax tightening. “I would _never_ ,” he spat, bristling fury.

“Ah,” Percival said. The tone, the inflection, _all_ of it was drenched with layers of weaponized condescension. It was fucking glorious; Vax would hop down and tongue-kiss him right there if he could, stupid name or no. He wasn’t used to that kind of snobbery being used _for_ him instead of _against;_ he never even figured he’d like it so much _._ “So I assume you have another explanation for your current position? Your hand,” he added at the short, stunned silence. “Or did it find its way to that boy’s arse all on its own?”

Maxwell jerked his hand away.

Vax hid a grin against finely tooled metal. “He’s been feeling me up all the way from the square,” he said, wriggling his hips just enough to prompt Maxwell to dump him—none too gently—between their feet. He was ready for it, twisting midair and dropping into an easy crouch, dark tangles falling about his face. His one arm still hung limp at his side, but he used the other hand to shove back his hair and get a good look at his would-be savior, taking all the necessary details in a glance.

Moderately tall, around his age, human (of course). Pale as snow against dark hair and bright eyes. Golden spectacles perched on an aristocratic nose and a mouth that no doubt could be cruel, twisted into a pleased smirk. Books under one arm and burn marks on what should have been lordly soft fingers. Skinny, but full of a wiry strength that appealed to Vax nonetheless.

 _A puzzle_. Vax wasn’t quite so fond of collecting shiny things as Vex despite his rather dubious profession, but still…he couldn’t resist a good conundrum. And something about Percival of Whitestone sparked questions he was dying to find the answers to.

 _Why are you helping me?_ he thought, slowly rising. Percival edged forward subtly, putting himself between Vax and Maxwell so gracefully that it would have been an easy thing to miss.

“So, I have a proposition for you,” Percival said. He clasped his books loosely before him, eyes dragging up and down the bigger man with lazy self-assurance. “Leave the boy in my care and go about your duties. I will see that his crimes are addressed; in exchange, you won’t have to face any uncomfortable questions about the harsh treatment of Whitestone’s guests.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Maxwell protested. His cheeks had gone a mottled red and Vax watched with wary interest as he fisted and loosened his hands. Like he wanted to _throttle_ lordling Percival, but wasn’t sure he dared. “I was just doing my job.”

Percival tilted his head. “Really,” he said, in absolute deadpan. And somehow that was enough. Maxwell pulled back with muttered acquiescence, gaze darting to Vax before bouncing away again. “Good man,” Percival added with a smile that was pure triumph. He turned on his heel to look at Vax, attention pulled from the retreating guard as if he no longer existed. The door closed with a bang. “Well, you’re a right mess. Do you need help?”

Vax arched his brows in question.

“Your arm,” Percival explained.

He reached out to brush his fingertips against Vax’s deadened wrist, and Vax looked down with a growing frown. Oh, right, that. “No, it’s fine,” he said. He gripped the slack arm and began to carefully adjust it back into its socket. “I’ve got it. Besides, what would you do—condescend it back into place?”

“I was considering first aide, but if you’d rather I tried lordly approbation, I _have_ been practicing.”

That stole an unexpected laugh from him, tripping out his skinny chest as he finally snapped the arm back. Vax winced and swung it around, testing its range of motion. “You’re funny,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fingers. There, good as new. “I didn’t know fancy-ass lords were allowed to be funny.”

“The guard couldn’t have gone far if you’d like to turn me in,” Percival said, utterly dry.

“And waste a perfectly good getaway?” he scoffed, checking Percival out from the corner of his eyes. That little smirk had morphed into something almost like a full smile, and those bright eyes were tripping unselfconsciously up and down Vax’s frame—as if _he_ were the puzzle in need of solving. “Speaking of getting away…”

Percival arched a dark brow. “What _were_ you doing that got you hauled in by the law? Curiosity,” he added at Vax’s low noise. “I have no plans to pass judgement on half-starved young boys in the dead of winter.”

He straightened, turning on Percival. “What’s this _young boys_ bullshit?” Vax demanded, stepping closer, testing boundaries. That was the key to surviving on the streets: knowing who you could push and how far. And besides… _besides_ , it wasn’t like it was any kind of hardship moving so deep into the other boy’s orbit. A breath or two away at most, near enough he could smell the soft musk of his skin, underlain by snow and velvet and old books and…something chemical, but not unpleasant.

 _But not unpleasant_. Ha. Good way to describe lord Percival Muckity-Muck later, when he made it back to Vex. _You may even have liked him, Stubby._

Percival’s brows were climbing high, but he wasn’t backing away—even when Vax got right up into his face, so close he could count the dark lashes magnified by the lens of his glasses. This wasn’t someone who got pushed around easily; good to know.

“I’ve got to be your age,” Vax said, enjoying the heat he could feel being cast off the other boy’s frame. Enjoying the faint frisson of _tension_ —awareness or attraction or…recognition or _something._ Something that coiled loose and waiting in his stomach. “Maybe older. Definitely older,” he added with an exaggerated scoff. “You’re probably, what, fifteen?”

“ _Sixteen_ ,” Percival said, “and aware enough of himself to realize all this aggressive eye contact is masking a thief trying to steal his cuffs.”

He stepped back, neatly dislodging Vax’s wandering hands—things had a mind of their own sometimes, he swore—and shook out his sleeves.

Vax shrugged a shoulder. “I figured it was worth a try.”

“You figured _these_ were worth me calling that guard back?” Percival plucked at the golden disks, and he frowned when Vax just grinned. “You didn’t think I’d call him back.”

“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t. It’d make you lose face, and after all that effort you took to grind him under your boot. Besides,” he added, easing back a step. “I didn’t figure on being caught. Twice in a day—I must have pissed off some god.”

Percival made a dismissive noise deep in his aristocratic throat. “You’re starved and half-frozen,” he said, plucking again at those golden cuffs. “There’s no point crying divine intervention when basic biology is to blame. Here,” he added, suddenly crouching. He set the armful of books aside and straightened, beginning to unfasten buttons.

Both of Vax’s brows went up. “Oh, are we doing this in the middle of the _hall_?” he flirted. Shameless as ever. He barely bit back a grin at the other boy’s startled noise. “I know I’m fucking irresistible, but I’m not keen on finding out if important bits can stick to stone when it gets cold enough.”

“I’m not—” Percival said, _blushing_. It swept up his neck, his cheeks, his ears, red and sweet and endearing enough to make Vax want to say something even _worse_ just to see how long he could keep it going. The handsome face was made even more attractive, even more approachable, the brighter it was stained. It made a body think about settling in for a bit to see where things led. “I wasn’t— I don’t—”

He let out a breath, shoving the heavy velvet coat off his shoulders. “You’re messing with me,” Percival decided, balling up the fine fabric as if its obvious wealth meant nothing to him before shoving it into a grinning Vax’s arms.

“No,” Vax said, taking the warm coat with its expensive—life-saving, really—buttons easily. “I’m _fucking_ with you; keep up, Percival.”

“Percy,” Percy said. One corner of his mouth curled into a reluctant return smile. “If we’re to be on a first-name basis. You’re strange.”

He slipped his arms into the heavy velvet sleeves, absolutely _not_ taking a whiff of Percival— _Percy’s_ —scent as he did so. “I am,” he agreed easily. “I’m also Vax’ildan. Vax. Thanks for saving me from your dungeons. And for the buttons.”

Percy shrugged a shoulder, stooping again to grab his armful of books. The white shirt he wore was fine lawn, framing skinny shoulders and exposing the pale line of his throat. Maybe it was because Percy had saved his ass, or maybe the starvation and cold really were getting to him, but Vax suddenly felt an urge to press his face against the curve of that neck; run his lips across the steady thrum of his pulse. Rub up against him like a damn affection-starved cat imprinted on the first bit of kindness he’d stumbled across in an age, and _what the actual fuck_ was wrong with him? “—food in the kitchen,” Percy was saying. “No doubt you could steal some without being caught.”

Vax swallowed, huddled deep in the other boy’s coat and scent and presence and inexplicable kindness and all at once shaken to the core. “No doubt,” he said, voice rough. _Angry_ -sounding. Percy looked up, startled, but Vax was already backing away, unsettled by how easy it suddenly felt to be here; how simple it would be to just…stay. Wait out the winter. Lurk around the keep with Vex like a pair of half-wild things and let himself be charmed by a little lordling who was far kinder than he likely cared to admit even to himself.

“Look,” Vax added, panic rising over how _easy_ it all was to picture, “I’ve got to…”

“No, right, of course,” Percy said. Those eyes were too-bright, too-intelligent. Vax couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d cut him down to the bone if he let them; dissect him like some sort of science experiment and learn all his secrets.

He didn’t want that.

He _shouldn’t_ want that.

Oh fuck, how he wanted that.

He needed to get something in his belly and shove his head into a bracing snowbank, like, _now_. “I’m,” he said, spooked by his own inexplicable response. Maybe it was a heretofore unknown savior fantasy unfolding warm and weighted in his chest. Maybe he was feverish with cold and residual fear. Maybe… Maybe… Maybe…

“I assume I won’t see you around,” Percy said, and that hint of regret turned something dangerous over in Vax’s stomach.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, moved to sooth even as he steadily backed toward the door and freedom. “Handsome guy like you, maybe I won’t be able to stay away. Uh, hey,” he added, refusing to watch that flush creep up Percy’s pale cheeks again. That wasn’t an addiction he cared to foster. “Thanks. For everything.”

Percy shrugged an elegant shoulder. “I didn’t do it for you. I just wanted to see what would happen,” he said, so convincingly unaffected that Vax could almost believe it. “It was funny.”

 _Liar liar_. Percy, shifting subtly in place, clearly wasn’t comfortable facing his own savior complex, just as Vax was increasingly uncomfortable with how fucking _good_ it felt to be saved. They faced off, neither really able to look at the other, something palpable swimming between them as heady as the kiss Vax refused to let himself steal; some thefts were easier to live with than others. “Right,” he said, edged almost to the door again. “Well, glad I could be good for a laugh. Uh, goodbye.”

“Remember,” Percy said, arms curling around his books. Standing there, dark hair falling across his brow, glasses catching the light, he looked younger. Almost anxious, all that smirking, frozen power melted away into flesh and blood and bone and oceans of insecurity. “There’s always more than enough food in the kitchens, and the north-facing door is impossible to keep locked. Just about anyone could bust in if they had a mind to. And if you needed anything, well. You know where to find me, I suppose.”

 _Thank you_ , Vax didn’t say. “That’s the best part about being me, _Percival_ ,” Vax managed. “I don’t need anything.”

The lie was sweet on his tongue but bitter going down as he spun on his heel and darted out of the keep—out into slowly drifting snow and fresh air, the cold nowhere near as biting thanks to the heavy velvet of his new coat. He hurried down the steps and vaulted over the railing toward the rocks below, needing to put distance between him and this place. Later, he’d circle back and nip some of that food Percy was talking about. Later, he’d pawn off the gold cuffs from this fancy lordling’s coat and stock up on all the shit he and Vex would need until the snows melted enough to let them pass out of this place. Later, he’d maybe spy into drafty old windows and watch a pale-faced boy reading by candlelight, or doing whatever it was that left his hands pitted and burned and gorgeously rough.

Later. _Later_.

For now Vax just ran, fleeing Whitestone’s long shadow with the feeling he had just barely escaped something; some intangible noose that could have looped so easily around his neck, placed there by white knight saviors who liked to pretend they didn’t care half as much as they obviously did. Who blushed at the first sign of flirtation but didn’t—wouldn’t—back down.

He turned his face away from the fat flakes drifting down, catching in the dark tangle of his hair—scowling even as he pressed his cheek against the soft nap of Percy’s velvet coat and dragged in a lungful of leather and old books and _boy_. As he ran, he couldn’t help but imagine the little lord walking up the lonely dark steps, shivering in his thin white lawn shirt, arms wrapped around his books—pretending that he didn’t care.

 _Void take me,_ Vax thought, setting his jaw stubbornly against the strange feeling of inevitability settling deep in his superstitious gut. Furious at his own weakness and just as determined to fight it. _And void take this whole damn place._ He shook off that feeling of rightness, of fate, and veered toward the mountains and a waiting Vex, determinedly putting the memory of Percy behind him.

Focusing instead on the future they were intent on building for themselves far away from this place.


	3. Now

“ _Percy_ ,” Vax breathes again, staring. Gutted. Absolutely torn apart and folded inside-out, because fuck, fuck, of all the things he ever expected to find in this shithole dungeon, _Percy_ hadn’t been one of them.

Percy wets his lips, dried blood flaking down his chin; each breath rattles in his chest. “What,” he begins, and Vax can’t tell if the other boy— _man_ , now, he supposes, all grown into that early promise of beauty—recognizes him yet. He supposes it doesn’t matter, not when he’s so obviously broken by whatever brought him here. “I…”

Vax slips his daggers into his belt and shoves almost angrily into the cell, moving to his side. “Hush,” he says, with infinite gentleness. He slides an arm around Percy’s too-thin shoulders, heart stuttering in his chest at the way he jerks in reflexive fear. Gods, what was done to him? “ _Hush_ , Percy. It’s all going to be okay.”

Percy sucks in another painful-sounding breath, the air whistling against, fuck, a punctured lung? Vax has no idea; he leaves the doctoring shit to Pike when he can, and Vex when the little gnome isn’t around. But he’s reluctant to call the others down now; he doesn’t want them to see Percy like this, knows that if Percy were in his right mind, he would hate for anyone to see him so weak.

“Shh,” Vax tries again, pressing his lips once to that snowy fall of hair. “Shh, hey, hey, it’s all right.”

“ _No_ ,” Percy says, but he’s not fighting Vax. His eyes are closed, head tipping back, and there’s a darkness to the set of his mouth that is entirely new and—frightening. “No, it really isn’t.”

Vax tries to laugh. “You’re right,” he says, supporting Percy’s slight weight even as he fumbles at his side for a potion, grateful he’d allowed Keyleth to badger him into accepting one. “It really fucking isn’t.”

Percy doesn’t open his eyes, even when Vax brushes his fingertips against his jawline. There’s no sign of memory there, no response, as if everything that made Percy _Percy_ has been locked away inside that brilliant mind of his. As if he’s somewhere far, far away, lost to Vax despite being right fucking _here_ , and he’d howl with rage if he had the privacy. He’d go tearing through these dungeons and find whoever did this and rip them _apart_.

He can’t do that now. So instead he presses the curve of the bottle to those parched lips. “Come on, then, Poncy,” he says, voice pitched low. “Drink up. And maybe once you’ve got your strength back, we can see about making the world look the way it ought to again, yeah?”

He waits for a response. Some small part of him holds out hope that he will be enough to bring Percy back to himself; that this will make him open his eyes and smile that familiar mocking smile and _recognize_ the way fate (the bitch) has brought them together again, like warp and weft forever-crossing.

That Percy will look at him and be _Percy_ again.

But Percy, battered and broken and lost deep in himself from some unable trauma, does not respond. He doesn’t even open his eyes.

And Vax can feel his heart begin to _break_.


End file.
